It's risky business trying to keep up with a 3-year-old when you're 30+ weeks pregnant. Especially when that 3-year-old gives no thought to self-preservation.
I will never again judge a parent for putting her child on a leash. Whenever I take Charlotte shopping, she tests- and then exceeds- the limits by running away from me, hiding, and most egregiously, going out the front door without me. When I could chase after her, these habits were annoying and embarrassing; now that Imove like an obese duck, something has to give.
Last week, that give was given by my pelvic muscles, and they're still complaining loudly. I took my girl to the library- possibly her favorite place in the world- and while I was checking out her picks of the week, Ilooked over and saw she had gone through both sets of doors out to the front sidewalk. I immediately dropped everything and started running toward the door. I took about three steps before I yelled out as a sharp pain stopped me in my tracks. I limped the rest of the way and collected my wayward child.
We finished our book business and got in the car for a trip around town- first to the post office drive-through and then to Ulta to replace some makeup I'd depleted. My bod seemed back to normal until I got out of the car in the Ulta parking lot and realized I couldn't move. I stood next to the car for a couple minutes, hoping the problem would pass, but the new pelvic pain was overwhelming, the muscles almost immovable. As I stood there, wincing and attempting to walk, a nice guy drove by and asked if I was in labor and in need of help. I replied, “Thank you, no,” but then I started thinking, What have I done? What if I do go into labor now? Would the baby be OK?
Hoping the immobility was purely muscular (and it turns out that it was), I very, very slowly got Char out of her seat and we made our way across the street and into the store. (I only needed a couple of items, and I was determined to get them without having to make another trip!) We got through it, painfully, but I was laid up on the couch for the next 24 hours with my Tylenol and hot pad.
A week later, I'm still hurting. I'm sleeping with a belly ramp pillow now, which helps, but I've annoyingly had to admit that I can't do as much physically as I would like to. It's not a great feeling, and those last seven weeks are looming from here to the horizon. The good news is that the baby is unaffected- it's just his mama whose muscles are rebelling, refusing to hold up the uterus without a fuss. Oh, and Char's shopping days are over until further notice.